


A World You Long to See

by Snowfilly1



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Baking, But he's working on it, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Domestic, Emotional Baggage, Healing, Hell Is Awful, M/M, Recovery, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), storm watching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:55:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23928748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowfilly1/pseuds/Snowfilly1
Summary: "Crowley startles when Aziraphale comes to stand alongside him; hadn't been aware of him arriving back, let alone coming close. Dangerous - but no, if there's freedom, it's freedom to let his guard down as well. Freedom to not be afraid."Crowley bakes a cake, watches a storm and tries to get used to being free of Hell's control.A little character study piece.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 74
Collections: Week 10: Did you say CAKE?!





	A World You Long to See

**Author's Note:**

> For the Ineffable Husbands FB prompt 'Cake.'
> 
> Title is stolen from 'Do You Hear the People Sing?' from Les Mis.

The world is grey.

Crowley can see to the end of it from where he stands, hipshot, mixing bowl cradled one-armed against his chest; apple tree and garden, hedge and the far banks of cloud coming over the bay. Rain splatters against the glass.

He watches as it darkens, closing the world down so quickly. Three breathes and the shore has vanished. By the time he's finished beating the eggs, the mixture almost the same shade as his eyes, the hawthorn and blackthorn and the old stone walls have faded away; as he turns and searches for the spices, only the apple tree is left to keep him company.

He leaves the lights off as he chucks the cinnamon in. Flicks a still flour covered hand to turn the music down, so all that's echoing through the cottage is the storm and the plastic against plastic stirring noise.

Slicing apples is another thing he can do in the dark; snake eyes and a few thousand years of Hell mean that he doesn't need to see. But it's rare for it to be on his terms, under his control, and there's something thrilling about moving through the shadows, knowing he can switch the world back to colour if he chooses.

Choice.

It's not something he's ever had a lot of before now. Not that he'll tell Aziraphale, but it scares him sometimes; that no-one is controlling him now, no-one telling him what to do or how to live. He can waste a morning storm watching and making a cake and there won't be any consequences except maybe a smile from the angel, who persists in saying that Crowley's baking is as good as the local restaurant. 

He can listen to the thunder. It swells low and violent, an orgasmic swell of noise ending with the crack of lightening out somewhere in the darkness. He doesn't have to flinch or turn away; this storm isn't guided by those who are searching for him. It's just the Earth, and the weather, and he can watch it if he wants.

He tells himself that, again and again. He's heard that humans need to hear something seven times before acting on it. Demons probably need longer.

Lightening stitches the sky together, casting shadows across the kitchen walls. Fire but so far away it doesn't bring the familiar clutching panic in its wake.

The bowl goes back on the work top; he takes a step closer to the window and watches. Aziraphale isn't a great fan of storms, and Crowley can't remember doing this before; simply watching something because he wants to.

'Dearest?'

He startles when Aziraphale comes to stand alongside him; hadn't been aware of him arriving back, let alone coming close. Dangerous - but no, if there's freedom, it's freedom to let his guard down as well. Freedom to not be afraid.

'Watching the storm,' he says, as though that explains why he's standing here still only half dressed and with the kitchen a mess.

But perhaps it does, because Aziraphale reaches up and kisses his cheek. Replies 'I'll be in the living room then. Enjoy it.'

And he does. Stands there and enjoys it, as awkward as it feels. Goes back to the cake mix once the clouds are scudding away and lets himself create something from almost nothing. He can almost admit that this is something he's doing for himself, rather than Aziraphale.

He wonders, as he finds a spot on the couch alongside Aziraphale who greets him with another kiss and the kind of smile that makes Crowley believe he is truly loved, if this is what healing feels like. He hopes so. Hopes he'll be able to stand in the dark tomorrow if he wants. 

**Author's Note:**

> Crowley is baking a spiced apple cake! Appropriate and delicious.


End file.
